


DethTV

by nursehelena



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nursehelena/pseuds/nursehelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/fan theory where Metalocalypse is literally just a TV show. Brendon Small sees an obscure band out of Tampa named Dethklok perform, and recruits the guys to portray their stage personas in his mockumentary about the biggest musical group in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have serious doubts posting this, tbh. It's 1100% self-indulgent, because I was thinking one night about whether or not the boys would be disappointed they're not getting a fifth season, and then it occurred to me that Metalocalypse being a TV show inside of a TV show made so much sense. Stuff like, Skwisgaar and Toki have such chemistry despite always being at odds because they're dating in real life, their label doesn't make an appearance until the third season because the band wasn't actually signed to anything until post-season 2, Tyr is Skwisgaar's actual father and he and Oscar are brothers (due to how similarly they look). . .
> 
> I don't know, this is just something fun that I like to play around with before I fall asleep each night. If you enjoy it too, cool. If you think it's stupid, you're probably right. XD
> 
> Chapters will be nice and short anyway, more vignettes than anything.

“Are you guys sticking around?” 

“Nah, we should probably go soon. It's been a long day.” 

“I'll pay for your drinks, if you do.” Nathan took another sip of his beer. “Just chill.” 

Dethklok had played their biggest gig so far, deep in the heart of Tampa's dingiest clubs. For a hobby band on the side, they didn't do so terribly. Once upon a time they'd aimed to hit it big, those who could sacrificing employment for frenzied song-writing sessions, and floating from one minuscule payday to the next. A lesson that the world didn't want death metal like they wanted boy bands or country singers was a hard pill to eventually swallow. 

“Might've got us another gig for next weekend,” Nathan mentioned. “Down the street, there. Dildo seemed interested, so if none of you guys have plans. . .?” 

“The girls are coming to visit,” Skwisgaar reminded him. “I have to drive all the way to Orlando and back on Saturday night to pick them up, since Erika has something. Sorry.” 

“She can't meet you?” 

“Something came up,” Skwisgaar repeated with a shrug. 

A man about Skwisgaar and Nathan's ages passed by the booth, then doubled back. “Hey, Dethklok.” 

“Uhh, hi?” Nathan greeted him in kind. They weren't exactly used to people approaching them as a band. “Something we can do for you?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” The man pulled a chair over from the nearest table and plopped down. “Been watching you a while. You guys got some sick talent, you know that? How come you don't play more seriously? Bet you could really get off the ground, if you did.” 

That was already attempted and failed. Eyes collectively narrowing in suspicion, everyone figuratively crouched behind Nathan on the assumption that he would do the speaking for them, as their self-proclaimed manager. “Who are you, exactly?” 

“Oh, sorry. Here I am, crashing your—whatever, and I haven't even—” He cleared his throat. “Brendon Small.” 

“Are you from a record label?” 

“What? No, I work in TV.” Brendon leaned forward onto his elbows, brow raised imploringly. “Of the People, if you're familiar with it at all. I help make the shitty cartoons, late night shows, shit like that.” 

Toki's eyes lit up. “Oh, that! Home Movies, that was you, right?” 

“Yeah, that was my last project. It's all over now, though. I'm moving onto something bigger and more ambitious. Trying, anyway. I've been practicing how the hell I'm going to pitch this to you guys, because it actually has to do with you. Came out tonight, saw you all here, figured I might as well come into it head-first.” 

“Bro,” Murderface piped up with a condescending tone. “Tell us what you want or get out of here. We don't have long until these two are ditching us for bedtime.” 

“I have this idea, right? It's about the biggest band in the world. A metal band. They're an economic force, they're so big. They live in this Viking citadel called Mordhaus, and every time they play a show, thousands of people die.” 

“So then why do people even go to the shows?” Skwisgaar asked, feathering where he'd spilled some beer on his band shirt's logo. “If they're just going to die, what's the point?” 

“They love this band _that_ much.” 

“If this band is so dangerous, how do they have any money left from all the lawsuits? People sue them, right?” Working in insurance as he did, Nathan focused on such potential claims. 

“I dunno, pain waivers or something. It doesn't matter.” Brendon waved it off. “The point is, this band is _you_.” 

Silence hung around the table. 

“What do you mean, us?” Murderface still slouched back against the booth. “We're just here. We're nothing special. Even if we kick ass, what does it matter? Most people don't like metal.” 

“You guys are completely missing the point.” Rather than frustrated, Brendon grew more excited. With it, he placed a hand on Pickles' shoulder; as nicely as he could, Pickles peeled it off. “The show's more than that. It's about five assholes that are spoiled completely rotten by their servants.” 

“I'd watch it, I guess,” Pickles piped in. “Let's take your word for it that it's an awesome show and for some reason it's about us—dude, why us, again? Did Cannibal Corpse not pick up their phone?” 

The other guys laughed, but Brendon couldn't be deterred. He grinned, too. “I didn't want an already-established band, and you guys have character! Like you, your last name is Murderface—” 

“Nah, not really,” Murderface denied it with a shrug. “It's—” 

“That's all fine then, it still can be, on the show. And Pickles, what kind of a name is this?” 

“It's a nickname.” 

“And what's up with this hair? A dread-combover? That's fucking brilliant.” 

Pickles clapped a hand to his obscured bald spot, frowning. “ _You_ could stand to hide your shame, cocksmoker.” 

“This sounds great and all that, but we've got to go.” Toki made to stand, grabbing his jacket off the back. “Nice to meet you, Brendon. See you dudes later.” 

“Oh my god, you guys are lame,” Nathan hollered after them. All he received was twin flip-offs before Toki and Skwisgaar's fingers lazily intertwined between them. “I'm kind of half-interested, though. Go on.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you hear what I said?” Toki asked when Skwisgaar failed to respond. “Is something going on over there, that I should know about?” 

“Sorry,” Skwisgaar stated. He'd started out talkative on his and Toki's drive east the following weekend, but grew increasingly distracted by his phone. “It's Nathan.” 

“He got something interesting to say?” 

“Auntie wants us over for dinner tomorrow night, so that she can see Dagmar and Signe,” Skwisgaar relayed before they could get into discussion about everything else Nathan told him. “And you know that guy that came up to us after the show, last weekend?” 

“Mhm.” Toki had given up on keeping his hair out of his face while his window was rolled down. Small strands escaped the horrible bun he threw it all into, skimming back and forth before his aviator sunglasses. The black sleeveless shirt he wore with Carcass' logo on the front left his arm muscles open to be touched, which Skwisgaar did for a show of affection. That made Toki smile. “What about him?” 

“The other guys stuck around quite a while, talking about his idea.” Skwisgaar looked back through his and Nathan's conversation, to make sure he passed this all on in a way that made sense. “Nathan looked this guy up, and he's legit. He's been trying to get a show like this going for a while, but not until lately has his vision for it really formulated into anything.” 

“Did he ever explain just what exactly his fascination is with us?” 

“I guess it all started when he saw our show up in Tallahassee.” 

Toki groaned; they'd yet to live that clusterfuck down amongst even themselves. It kept them from travelling further up-state again for anymore gigs, in fear that their reputation would precede. “ _Why_ , though? That was so horrible.” 

“He thought our meltdown was hilarious.” 

“So he wants to put us on television, to show the nation just how big of idiots we are?” 

“It's not reality, it's still scripted. His show idea is about five spoiled, pampered assholes, but we would have our shit together, on-stage. . .which we do, most of the time.” 

“It sounds to me like you're almost considering this.” 

“It's fun to think about,” Skwisgaar said with a shrug. “It's Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface that're actually talking about quitting their jobs and going to work for OTP-TV.” 

“Is this something we all have to agree to, in order for it to happen?” 

“The network is ready to pay us, so money or employment isn't the issue. My concern is that it falls through in the future, and we need to start all over again, from the bottom.” 

“It does sound fun, but is it practical? It's like getting the dream of being a rock star, without the actual rock star part. Have you seen any scripts or character descriptions, of what they expect from us? Can we even act? I've never even really thought about it.” 

“Nathan has the first five episodes along with whatever this Brendon guy put down for the show bible. Said he'll bring them over when we get home, if we're at all interested in reading them.” 

“I wouldn't be against checking them out. Like you said, it kind of sounds like fun. There's no harm in dreaming, right?” 

Not unless you counted the disappointment that came with lack of fruition. Skwisgaar had been dreaming since he was incredibly young, about pursuing music. His father started him on the guitar at the tender age of eight, and birthed an obsession. Rock wasn't good enough for Skwisgaar though, and his search took him deeper into what this particular underground had to offer. The first band shirt he ever owned, boasting Metallica's Master of Puppets artwork, needed to be torn from his hands when holes in the armpits drove his mother to toss it in the trash. 

Uncle Oscar and his family coming up for a family reunion in Saint Cloud took Skwisgaar the next step deeper. He'd never really clicked with his cousin Nathan before, but excitement brimmed beneath the surface when he took in newly dyed, long hair framing an Emperor shirt. 

“Black metal, huh?” Skwisgaar broke the ice with. 

“What about it?” Nathan braced himself for what he probably suspected was yet another criticism of his favourite music. 

“What did you think was better, Nightside Eclipse or Prometheus?” 

That was all it took, for Nathan to attach himself cross-country to Skwisgaar. They kept in touch via email, recommending albums and discussing other such music-related phenomena, and then with admission to university in Tampa, Skwisgaar packed up his stuff and never looked back. Pickles was a good friend of Nathan's who already had experience in the area's metal scene, and Murderface an alumni Skwisgaar met when the psychology course he took necessitated signing up for an experiment. Murderface attempted to measure the effects of different types of music on the brain; Mercyful Fate's The Oath gave Skwisgaar such a degree of goosebumps that he was easily identifiable as a metalhead. Toki came along a bit later. 

At the time, uni was only supposed to be a fallback to Dethklok, the band Skwisgaar and Nathan rapidly created when living under the same roof. Good thing he listened to his parents' advice, because music wasn't destined to pan out. Still, Skwisgaar dreamed. He hoped he wouldn't be eternally confined to work as a librarian, and that pursuing his preferred career would come later rather than never. Work, school, and family took over for a while, but here they were. Sure, a television deal wasn't exactly what they aimed for, but it was better than the fat load of nothing they'd so far received. 

Skwisgaar kept checking his phone for new messages from Nathan. He had a point that, since the show would use their own tracks, it would make great promotional material. . .


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan loitered in his mom's kitchen, mindlessly watching as she went about cooking for seven people. She could never resist bringing family together at every possible chance, although he supposed their scattered nature all over the country meant that if she didn't, they'd all quickly lose track of each other. Keeping up with Skwisgaar during their late teens was laughably hard, compared to all the Facebooks and Twitters of today. He didn't have to call up Uncle Tyr to ask how removing the dead tree in his yard went, because it was the first damn thing he saw on his Facebook feed that morning. 

Still, whatever. It was a good opportunity to tease his nieces face to face, as well as to bounce some ideas off his mom now that he had an excuse to visit. “What would you think, if I was on TV?” 

“On TV?” Rose repeated. “Doing what?” 

“Acting on a show. I got approached last week about it. All us guys did. Apparently it revolves around Dethklok.” 

Rose looked up from where she fried some onion and squash, brow furrowed. “Honey, I'm afraid you're not making much sense. Is your band performing on something?” 

“Kind of, but not really? This guy really likes us, and wants to make a show about the band. It's still scripted and our on-screen characters would be dramatized, but it seems like it'll be really awesome. I've been talking with the showrunner all week. He's already got some celebrities lined up to be on it, down the road, if it happens. Some of the Metallica guys, George Fisher. . .” 

“It sounds like it might be fun.” 

“Thing is, it's a whole new job, right? If we shoot the pilot and it gets picked up, I’ll have to quit at Cornerstone. I have to take vacation time anyway to do the pilot, since we'll be heading to Canada. That's new to me all on its own.” 

“Hollywood North, or whatever they call Vancouver?” 

“Nah, we're supposedly playing a concert in northern Norway in the episode, so we're just going to go to one of those islands up by Greenland. Easier on the budget.” 

“Pack a jacket,” Rose advised. “I don’t think Spring Break is so forgiving, up there.” 

“We’re not going yet, though. Need to convince Toki and Skwisgaar to at least give it a shot.” 

“Don’t you try to talk them into doing something they don’t want to. You get them into enough trouble as it is.” 

“Why is it always _my_ fault, if something goes wrong?” 

“I’m just saying.”


	4. Chapter 4

_From: Mom_   
Skwisgaar!!! How come I’m only hearing now from rose that ur going to be on a tv show? 

_To: Mom_   
its not a big deal. just a pilot 

_From: Mom_   
not a big deal! I think its a very big deal 

_To: Mom_   
Can you not say anything about it? trying to keep it quiet...dont know how its going to go but if it doesnt go well dont want to be more disappointed than i have to be 

_From: Mom_   
what channel will it be on 

_To: Mom_   
OTP 

_From: Mom_   
oh 

_To: Mom_   
what about it 

_From: Mom_   
nothing, just wondering what kind of a show it’s going to be if its on there 

_To: Mom_   
might be good, you never know 

_From: Mom_   
of course it will be, if you’re in it 

_To:Mom_   
nothing can suck if my mom likes it lmao. seriously though i have to practice a swedish accent and i guess I’m doing it wrong?? it’s not supposed to sound like mormor or morfar 

_From: Mom_   
what does it sound like, then? 

_To: Mom_   
a fucking idiot 

_From: Mom_   
does that bother you? 

_To: Mom_   
no it’s funny I guess...Dethklok Toki and Skwisgaar are from Norway and Sweden so i guess we’re paying for that. Brendon is going to every length possible to make us as uncomfortable as possible. says it makes for good tv, and thats what he liked about us in the first place 

_From: Mom_   
are you talking about tallahassee? 

_To: Mom_   
ugh 

_From: Mom_   
he’s right though. think about the most highly rated reality shows...the more drama, the better 

_To: Mom_   
this isn’t dramatic, just uncomfortable. good uncomfortable, I guess? god you, dad, and janna are going to kill yourselves laughing 

_From: Mom_   
Then consider it a job well done :)


	5. Chapter 5

After a rushed month to get everyone's passports and work visas ready, and then book the time off from work and study, a bleary-eyed group assembled at Tampa International. Seven in the morning was already too early for take-off, before factoring in early arrival and commute. Toki and Skwisgaar sacked out again as they all waited to board, heads rested together in a way that did not look in the least bit comfortable to Murderface. He himself sat between Pickles and Nathan opposite the slumbering beauties, legs spread in order to take up all the room he sacrificed to Nathan’s broad upper body. 

He nudged Nathan with his right knee, in attempt to get his nose out of the magazine he boredly flipped through. Beyond Toki and Skwisgaar, where Brendon took the phone call he'd excused himself for, was where Murderface concentrated. “Notice how closely he watches us?” 

“Huh?” 

“Every time we open our mouths, he's on it. I don't trust him.” 

“You don't trust anyone,” Pickles reminded him. “I snuck a peak in that notebook he totes around. Looks to me like he just wants to keep our characters similar to who we are.” 

“Seems to _me_ like we're just letting some weirdo stalker keep tabs on us. How much do you want to bet this bald douche isn't telling us something?” 

“He got us a work visa and bought our plane tickets. I'm not about to argue,” Nathan pitched in while pushing his reading glasses up his nose. “Besides, I know what fraud looks like. This guy isn't one. So what if he's this fascinated with us? This is the closest we've ever gotten to branching out on our music, and it might open more doors if this is successful.” 

“Weren't you just sayin' the other day that you were ready to drop your thesis and put your all into this?” Pickles asked. 

“Well yeah, but. . .” Murderface shrugged. “I'm not used to dildos looking at me like _he_ does. It's like he's always trying to decipher something. It makes me uneasy.” 

“Get used to it, bro. At least for now.” 

If Brendon was just one of those writer types that took inspiration from the world around him and didn't present any actual danger, then Murderface could maybe adjust. _Maybe_. He much preferred to blend into the background and let everyone else get the spotlight. Brendon darted something down in that little black book again, earning Murderface's narrowed eyes, when their flight number was called. 

Unable to resist, Murderface shook Toki and Skwisgaar frantically awake. “Wake up! Guys, the plane's going without us!” 

“Fuck off,” Toki mumbled as he took a tired swat at Murderface, after he and Skwisgaar realized there was no such danger. That too, went documented by Brendon.


	6. Chapter 6

“All of our chefs, they haves died a horrible death. What of that do you—?” 

“Hold on, hold on. . .” Brendon interjected from behind the camera. “Skwisgaar, can you make yourself sound less like someone from the Midwest? You start off strong sounding like a foreigner, but then you get too comfortable and wean off.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Still sounds American.” 

“Uh, ja. . .shore.” 

“Better. And Pickles? Opposite problem.” 

“I don't get what you want me to do. I'm supposed to be from the Midwest, I’m _from_ the Midwest, so I'm talkin' like I normally would.” 

“Okay, but can you _really_ make that clear?” 

“Maybe kind of like a Newfie,” the locally-based actor portraying Jean-Pierre suggested. “Or more like someone from Nova Scotia.” 

“I don't know anyone from there to base that on.” 

“Hold on, let's dig someone up or find you a video clip on YouTube. . .” 

Not until they arrived in Vancouver had Pickles even known those were actual places. He'd heard of Quebec, Toronto, Winnipeg and the current city they situated in, but everything between was a full-on mystery. He didn't remember the 1988 Olympics in Calgary, since he simply didn't care, nor did he realize that Albertan oil sands powered his car more than any country in the Middle East. Coming to a foreign country wasn't what he expected, although American and Canadian culture was very similar. Vancouver could have belonged to the country less than thirty miles south of it, were it not for minor differences from Seattle or other Pacific-oriented cities. On the one day so far it didn't rain, relatively mild spring compared to the humid hot box that was home gave them a day-off to spend on Granville Island, in Charleston Park, and then Science World when they migrated far enough east. Differing levels of fascination meant they nearly left Toki behind, out of impatience. 

“Hovercraft,” Pickles said before experimenting with different inflections. “Huvver-craft. Huvver-creeaft.” 

“I thinks that one sounds the best,” Toki piped in. He'd taken to his characterization quite easily, treating this whole acting gig more like a game than something to be taken seriously. 

“Okee, so huvver-craft or huvver-creeaft?” 

“Draw it out,” Brendon decided. “Remember the scene. You're all talking over each other, and not a single one of you makes sense.” 

“Right. And we're trying to warn this guy here that–” 

“Hey, this wine's pretty good,” Murderface refilled his goblet. “I can't believe you guys are actually letting us drink on set. This is the coolest job ever.” 

“Livin' the dream!” Pickles grinned crookedly as his fellow flushed bandmates chimed in with similar sentiment, speaking over one another already in hardly comprehensible speech. “Okee, chief. Hit thet record button, and let's feckin' do this!”


	7. Chapter 7

While cameras rolled a few aisles down in the Safeway the filming crew occupied, Toki loitered with Skwisgaar in the feminine hygiene aisle. They were supposed to be finished filming Nathan’s shopping experience, and although they probably should have stopped when a cut hand bled everywhere, Nathan said he was fine to finish before medical attention was administered. Toki had his lines memorized as result, and had taken to boredly tossing box after box of tampons into Skwisgaar’s cart. 

“Do you mind?” Skwisgaar rose an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” 

Toki kept it up, inciting Skwisgaar to return the favour with pads and panty liners. It did nothing to deter him, but Toki appreciated any little bit of fun that came their way. He had a good time acting and all, and certainly the excuse to have their trip to a foreign country paid for was nothing to scoff at. It was still work, though. Long days including hours Toki _never_ saw by choice left little spare time besides a steam-blowing hump or groping session before they crashed for the night. If they by some slim chance ended up doing this for a living, they would certainly need to figure out how to overcome that particular issue. 

“So, are you ready to deliver your big line?” Toki asked to make conversation as their filling carts neared the brim. 

“Which one is that?” 

“GMILFs.” 

“ _Oh yeah_.” The corners of Skwisgaar’s lips turned upwards to coincide with a softened gaze. “I’ve been working really hard to get into character, for that. You know what I found in the magazine rack? Old lady tits.” 

“You’re joking, right?” 

“They’re actually not bad. I could probably get in on that.” 

Toki scoffed; he never explicitly said so, but he had no idea how Skwisgaar managed to overcome his awkwardness around the female form and women in general long enough to have two children with one. How could they possibly mystify him, after he’d grown up with two in his house to begin with? Still, Skwisgaar’s ungainliness left Toki in tears of laughter when Dagmar got her first period while spending July with them. If not for his need to watch Signe through the entire ordeal (Dagmar locked herself up in the bathroom), Toki would’ve loved to tag along to the grocery store while Erika instructed him over the phone what kind of product he searched for. He _did_ get to overhear an apology later that night about Dad’s lack of knowledge and reacting in a way that embarrassed his eleven year old, but that was more sweet than hilarious. 

“You guys ready to roll?” one of the producers asked, then tsked when he peered into their shopping carts. “We had these set up. Can you put all the excess boxes back on the shelves, please?” 

Rather than do as he was told, Toki watched Skwisgaar go about the chore. Mostly, that entailed staring at his ass. “Can’t even get away from wor—” 

“If you make one more food library joke, I swear to God, Toki. I will not touch you tonight.”


End file.
